"hicks" poems
The World is like a ride in an amusement park, and when you choose to go on it you think it's real, because that's how powerful our minds are. And the ride goes up and down and round and round, and it has thrills and chills and is very brightly colored, and it's very loud. And it's fun, for a while.
Some people have been on the ride for a long time, and they've begun to question, 'Is this real, or is this just a ride?', and other people have remembered, and they've come back to us and they say 'Hey, don't worry. Don't be afraid, ever, because this is just a ride.' and we **** THOSE PEOPLE.
"Shut him up! We have alot invested in this ride! SHUT HIM UP! Look at my furrows of worry. Look at my big bank account, and my family. This just has to be real."
It's just a ride.
But we always **** those good guys who try and tell us that. You ever noticed that? And let the demons run amok. But it doesn't matter, because ... It's just a ride.
And we can change it anytime we want. It's only a choice. No effort, no work, no job, no savings of money. A choice, right now, between fear and love. The eyes of fear wants you to put bigger locks on your door, buy guns, close yourself off. The eyes of love, instead see all of us as one.
Here's what we can do to change the world right now, to a better ride:
Take all that money we spent on weapons and defense each year and instead spend it feeding, clothing, and educating the poor of the world, which it would many times over, not one human being excluded, and WE CAN EXPLORE SPACE, TOGETHER, BOTH INNER AND OUTER, forever ... in peace.
-- Bill Hicks (1961 - 1994)
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 2:25 AM UTC
We are the ******* we are the spicks.
We are the kykes, we are the hicks.
We're the one's who wait our turn,
To read the books you wish to burn.
We are the honkies, the mussies with guns.
We are the beaten, the poor and the dumb.
We see the horrors, the mistrust and the hate.
We are the people, the ones who relate.
We are the chinks, the bindis, the *****
We are the losers, the mixed and the muts.
We are alone, left to fight.
We are the ones crying at night.
We are the triggers, set on the gun.
We are the fighters, refusing to run.
We see the world through darkened glass.
We see each other as mutants to pass.
If only we learn, it could be done...
We are all different, but we are all one.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 8:45 PM UTC
even teddy said i got the sickest tricks brah.
like my abilities source from some kinda legendary liquid
/ praise the lord /
monster energy should sponsor me.
a kickflip over the king’s *** hole
& a halfcab for the looky-loos.
i feel so tall when i climb that heap of asphalt trimmings
& see clear from the water tower to the bluffs.
gimme a good day, any day at the bluffs,
bottlerockets & girly birds.
her body brings a swarm of worms.
decomp,
said the f.b.i. men one by one with tweezers.
not quite the homecoming queen, still
wrapped in plastic.
look up.
see that great mess of wires, nest of powerlines and owl bones?
it crackles and croons its electro-spectral purr
all night and day.
new neck tat &
cody spends his paycheck on a crossbow.
we target practice on a bull skull.
wet cigarettes and turpentine-soaked socks for a good huff
in the dry of the roofline as it dumps.
there’s that little boy in a ghost mask again, tap-dancing
in puddles below the streetlamp,
& oversized shoes.
his grandmoms always be watchin’ from the window.
[whispers] she’s teaching him magic.
lucky unit 19: where our young dead damsel once dolled
herself up, you see
men and headlights would roll thru thrice nightly,
maybe more.
& i remember her punch red lips &
big whicker hat; while she weeded and watered her garden of begonias.
the sheriff’s deputy, hart? hicks? hogan? well he loved her a bunch.
stole her clothes in the middle of the night,
& sat beside the river sobbing into clumped fists
of bra and blouse.
i bought ******* from that guy once or twice.
harold? howard?
guess who showed his face today?
josiah, from unit 08.
since the incident with molly’s beagle, he’s been rarely seen.
took a bee line straight for the mailbox.
a package. a prize. a decoder ring/secret map sweepstakes
to be seen and deciphered.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 1:44 AM UTC
We're very much alike.
Poetry is our inspiration,
we were born writers.
People call us BBQ sauce snobs
wine connoisseurs
and brothers.
But he likes to dance
at night--
in the headlights
when the air pierces the skin.
His deep dark pockets
are an oblivion of cigarettes
and full minis of Jack.
Remind's me of Harpo.
He walks like a snake slithers--
body swaying
and a gleaming mischievous twinkle
in his eye.
We both enjoy crisp, autumn days,
but he prefers them cloudy--
dark.
He says it brings out the color
in the reds and orange leaves jumping off the trees to twist in the breeze.
Listening to stand-up is our solace,
though he says Hicks is god.
I say Carlin
His shadow reminds me of a demon--
the long lost son of Medusa.
He's not afraid to say what he thinks,
cause he knows he's right.
Sometimes I believe him--
he speaks with such nonchalant confidence.
There's always a needle on his words
swiftly flitting and flickering
like a flame he's flicking off his tongue.
And if his words hurt breaking the skin?
"Don't be such a ***** he'll snarl
before turning the charm back on
with a giggle and ironic wink.
He likes to collect
the faults in others
cause his thinks his **** don't stink.
He keeps reminding me of mine.
He enjoys needling
people.
We've known each other
for a long while.
Seems like longer....
but that's cause my roommate is me.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 8:08 PM UTC
Love is sharper than stones or sticks;
Lone as the sea, and deeper blue;
Loud in the night as a clock that ticks;
Longer-lived than the Wandering Jew.
Show me a love was done and through,
Tell me a kiss escaped its debt!
Son, to your death you'll pay your due--
Women and elephants never forget.
Ever a man, alas, would mix,
Ever a man, heigh-ho, must woo;
So he's left in the world-old fix,
Thus is furthered the sale of rue.
Son, your chances are thin and few--
Won't you ponder, before you're set?
Shoot if you must, but hold in view
Women and elephants never forget.
Down from Caesar past Joynson-Hicks
Echoes the warning, ever new:
Though they're trained to amusing tricks,
Gentler, they, than the pigeon's coo,
Careful, son, of the curs'ed two--
Either one is a dangerous pet;
Natural history proves it true--
Women and elephants never forget.
L'ENVOI
Prince, a precept I'd leave for you,
Coined in Eden, existing yet:
Skirt the parlor, and shun the zoo--
Women and elephants never forget.
2.5k
I'm so happy-
I've masturbated until I can't feel
and that's okay.
My hair is brittle;
the water's iron and so are you-
your love's a mess.
God is angry
because he doesn't have to exist
to be real.
Hipsters ruined liking Wes Anderson-
Bill Hicks was brilliant
and everyone is an intellectual.
Your ideas aren't yours-
your words are mine
and mine are yours.
Writing to be antidepressed,
because singing is for the shore,
for your shore.
Let's pick each other's psychology,
like we're removing clothes
or missing ads,
and get lost in each other's darkness,
because, "I love you,
I suppose.
I suppose."
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
intro:
teddy bear teddy bear turn around teddy bear teddy bear touch the skyyyyy....
chorus:
i sleep with my **** like its my teddy bear cuz its my teddy bear like it like it my teddy bear
i dream of those leaves they are everywhere they they are everywhere
V1:
i wake up and the smoke disapate
i was so high last nite but now its a different day
if i were ****** tested it would be to there dismay
i cant wait till the cash bounce back my way
order some more kush its mi main entree
now here bad ***** smoke some john deer
we dont gotta be hicks to take a couple hits
got tht **** burning like a wick oh **** i cant feel my face
drip....
chorus:
i sleep with my **** like its my teddy bear cuz its my teddy bear like it like it my teddy bear
i dream of those leaves they are everywhere they they are everywhere
V2:
my teddy bear alwas got me feelin safe
im in the air like will & grace
hahahahahaa ***** i spit in ur face
come here baby come get a taste
i never knew green was a flavor
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 1:27 PM UTC
a butterfly caked with dust
a cathedral black as rust
an **** of satanic lust
but who, O fool, can you entrust?
you prance and sneer, put on a frown
call Believing people stupid clowns
in moors with bogs to drag you down
a place of darkness where you drown.
Marilyn Manson had his kicks
devil's music, Satan's licks
laugh, say Jesus is for hicks
ignore the goads, ignore the ******
we're all worked up? in a stew?
while you scream like skewered shrews?
kohl your eyes with blackest goo
party's in hell?
**THE JOKE'S ON YOU.**
SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/13/2015
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC
Oh, America….
how can you be enthralled with Trump
dumping on Mexicans and insulting the handicapped
hair piece flapping in the wind
almost as much as his gums –
dumb hicks with ****** chicks
lick ***** of donkey
if they vote that fool
El Prez
and give him the keys
to the nuclear arsenal –
my minds reels at the possibilities
********* ball-licking ***** face
at the seat of power
offering the impoverished
cake
or worst
nothing but catch phrases and clichés
intending on inspiring the masses
elevate themselves to a similar status
of ‘The Donald’ –
not all of us have mob ties
and millionaire family members
not that many Americans
can support a failing casino
or be the star of a television show
most of us
are just people trying to make the best
of an increasingly ****** up situation
made exponentially worse
by this ******** real chance
at becoming the leader
of the free world –
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Josteen Yazzi said the Critic should ask his thought
on the matter of great art and literature
What do you know of art and literature, Uncle?
Nothing, he said, I think about what I do not know.
I do not know why people don't like Norman Rockwell.
Norman Rockwell painted the American Dream,
with Indians in it, some times.
I like Norman Rockwell because I know how he felt.
I saw my people live in a good world that vanished.
Magic or other wise, I remember mine,
the way
when I see
Mr. Rockwell's America as he imagined
he had seen it.
Or maybe he painted
what you should have been able to see,
but for wars and Spanish Flu and cattle barons
and reaping machines and steam and electricity.
Olaf Wieghorst coulda painted America ugly, too.
But he didn't.
Literature. I have nothing left to say, Norman Rockwell, maybe he needed a mentioning for some
reader anchored reason.
We have to deal with that more these days.
People with big old dish antennae out there,
rusting after Direct TV got a satellite to see the res,
Some o'the kids build a radio telescope, outa them three meter models,
so we are connected.
Norman Rockwell painted the Peaceful Kingdom,
just like Mr. Hicks and Mr. Kincaid,
not mr klee or mr picaso, they could image hell.
My ma liked That drippy guy, said she could see the swing of things in he's paintings, What's-isname,
Jackson, damshame, Jackson Pollak right?
but the message is in the medium, that's what my Shicheii yoosto say. Art must sing.
So I can play my drum. And she can dance.
When we think nothing about it.
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 8:45 PM UTC
Against a dark background
On this backwater planet,
We are all just hicks and heathens
In the scheme of galactic beings.
Hush,
Don't speak so loud.
It's best to remain hidden,
Out of sight, safe and sound.
Like the lost Amazonian tribe
That rues the day it was found.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
Circular Parameter
around my body
Golden ring
Getting in my vortex
Quite literally
Esther Hicks
Would like my tricks
Because it offers
Alignment
A practice that preaches
The sacred teachings
Of the Law of Attraction
Dancing in my hoop
Causes momentum
Of the greatest
joy in the action
Of light
I'll probably hula hoop
All the days of my life
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
Hudson, Hicks, Vasquez,
Android crew on board. Ripley -
Didn't like cornbread.
Last survivor, Newt.
Evacuation cancelled.
You're just a grunt.
'Yeah, Bishop should go'
Sulaco dropship inbound,
Huggers roam freely.
One final rescue,
Push through the ******* airlock.
Escape. Fade to black.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 8:33 AM UTC
Here you are
here you are,
yes you are
yes you are
you are here
you are here
and here
you
are.
Aye indeed
in the flesh you do appear,
yes my friend you are indeed,
certainly here.
Don't judge a book
by it's cover,
but what's inside is what matters,
I leave that to philosophers and their stones,
I say they're all just as mad as hatters!
Here you are,
where ever you may be,
there you are,
for everyone to see.
Reading from some screen,
because this won't make the front news,
on the technology we all love,
to make and use.
There you are,
showing off your prowess,
all the while you're thinking,
"Boy, i'm a mess!"
Well,
be it as it may,
not that I'm one to say!
You are a testimony of only you,
and a testimony
that only you can do.
How you sit,
stand,
approach another,
or flee,
no matter how you walk,
talk,
or sound,
you're still apparent to me.
You are a testimony,
of God's Grace,
or perhaps you are,
a testimony of truth and hypocrisy,
of the human race.
How you live,
is none of my concern,
it matters not to me,
what you make,
or what you earn
You are who you are,
oh how true this really is,
from the ol' boy from the hicks,
to the golly gee biz kids.
So today, be a testimony,
for all the people to see,
that when they look to you,
it's you they want to be.
Because you can do good,
or better than that,
with only a start of a smile,
and a tip of the hat.
You are a testimony,
of you got here,
so take off the shades,
enjoy the sun,
it's time to make your life clear.
Be strong, and virtuous,
diligent and mindful,
be passionate, and courageous,
but most of all be faithful!
I wish you well,
in the coming years that does run,
I wish you the best of luck and health,
and some better days under the sun!
So testify yourself,
in all things you do,
because in the words of Dr. Seuss,
"No one can be you-er than you!"
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 3:31 PM UTC
if I were something
I'd be a soldier
I'd **** off hicks with flowers
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 2:51 AM UTC
You want this perfect life.
All I see is a perfect lie.
So fed up.
With the flaws, the hicks.
It makes me sick.
Im slowly about to die.
Im slowly losing my own mind.
For ***** sake.
MY OWN LIFE IS AT STAKE!
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 1:17 PM UTC
To use a quote that encapsulates my feelings right now,
“I'm tired of this back-slappin' "isn't humanity neat" ******** We're a virus with shoes.”
― Bill Hicks
The Poem
Originally I thought I suffered from irritability,
irritability of the human race.
Then I realised whilst looking at my face, it was hate.
I told the Doctor I'd thought of suicide, then realised
I wanted to commit mass homicide.
Become a hermit.
Mankind, womankind I hate you, people think me nice, fair,
and kind, I know the truth, I am a ******* so you must be too.
We as a race need a cull.
Do I like the human race? No. What's to like?
I even dislike people that purport to be friends.
I intricately step my way through this world of vermin.
We defile what is beautiful and true, hate because we
are taught to. Ruin, start wars, cause pain, then moan about the rain!
We as a race are quite crudely put, a pile of ****
but even **** has purpose, a role.
What role do we have? To hate one another?
If so please make it equal and adhere to political correctness,
by that I mean, Hate Everyone equally.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 6:34 PM UTC
Give me another sweetwater afternoon
That tastes of onion grass and birth
And doesn’t care where you take a leak,
Give me the safe and warm provincial air
Coming from the west like a beggar
on a box car,
Give me the humidity that blots out the June-day sun
While we think ***** thoughts
On my couch,
Give me the opportunity to exchange blows with Johnny Rebel up the street
And his grandday’s probably rolling
In his grave,
Give me the hicks I rolled with for laughs before they married too early
So they can ride around on bikes with me
Like we did when the world was ours,
Give me a couple more days in the acrid Juniata
So I can dive in its sloppy green body
With reckless abandon,
Give me fishhooks in my heel
So I can pull them from my nakedness
And get Amish-made whoopee pies after the tears stop,
Give me moss covered roofs and tons of **** in the backyard
And the idle lap of water beneath the trout-boat’s belly
While I tell myself I’m not a redneck to my sunburned chest and my open flannel.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 12:02 PM UTC
You always said it was better to burn out than fade away, like Jimi Hendrix and Bill Hicks. A rock star with no guitar, but now your in
the Sky with Diamonds singing Glass Onion and Penny Lane with Lennon and Kurt Cobain.
Come together, join in Janis, another verse Across the Universe
or Let It Be Morrison that sings this song and one Day Tripper ill
Come Along and open that door....... When Im Sixty Four.
Jul 14, 2010
Jul 14, 2010 at 12:26 PM UTC
'Don't pick up the gun, son.
Don't pick up the gun.
'cause if you ever use it,
You'll be a man on the run.'
Those were Papa's words then
When I was just a boy.
My eyes looked trigger happy.
My young heart beat with joy.
But he knew then, as I know now -
Real guns are not a toy.
And he had one strong mission:
To save his only boy.
Yes, he knew well the danger,
And he knew of the pain.
So he would always stay on point
As he spoke his old refrain.
'Don't pick up the gun, son.
Don't pick up the gun.
Live life to the fullest and
Don't pick up the gun!'
(C) K. Hicks
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 12:09 PM UTC
oldest distillery in
the country
still using the
original method
of cooking,
fermenting,
distilling,
and
aging
in
new oak
barrels
the nectar of the hicks
of the world
brewed
in such a beautiful
and natural place
future and past
fused together
quietly keeping the
whole world
wasted
Dec 28, 2011
Dec 28, 2011 at 12:29 AM UTC
I would like to say, I have let my hate control me.
No, I don't dislike it. Honestly if I may say, I enjoy it very much.
But I feel bad for being a complete and utter ***** to this girl.
It started with her dating my bestfriend, and then cheating on him.
Everyone thinks she is a poser, but at the same time they act like they are her friends so they can use her. There is no way around it. At all.
But maybe she isn't a poser. Maybe we think this because she is just now going through what we all (my friends and I) went through many years ago. But the way she did it makes her look like an utter poser. And two things I hate with a passion: posers and hicks.
But before all of this her dating my bestfriend, and being a poser thing happened,
I was almost starting to be friends with her. Had NOTHING in common with her, and I liked it.
The only time we actually hung out we went to some guys house, and there were a few people, and every one was talking and laughing, and being loud.
Her and I sat on the floor away from everyone. I liked that.
I think she is a pretty cool girl, and is fun, and pretty out of all of this.
So, in a way, but not entirely I'm saying sorry
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC
You can lie in Wyoming,
they don’t care in Arizona,
you can mislead them in Mississippi
but don’t mess with Georgia.
You thought us “hicks from the sticks”
but we were wise to your tricks,
we just recorded your words,
now you’ll get what you deserve.
Your threats and fraudulent incitements,
have earned you several indictments.
You came down with your whole freak show,
so they charged you under RICO.
Come back to Georgia, Mr. Trump,
it turns out you were the chump.
Because we’ve got lots of new prisons
and DAs with surly dispositions.
In Georgia we don’t mind high flyers
but man, we hate traitors and seditious liars.
While many, it seems, fell for your blusterous aura,
you ******* yourself good by messing with Georgia.
.
.
Aug 15, 2023
Aug 15, 2023 at 1:46 PM UTC
By: David W. Clare
Country Hicks are my kinda folk
Getting drunk, we likes to joke
Moonshine an' whiskey, outlawed still?
Jack and Jill, kissed up the hill...
Shotgun weddin', down by the lake
Women folk rustling, baba queing up some steak
Pork spare ribs and a catfish bake...
Huckleberry cousins can't read nor write!
Uncle Gus, gettin' drunk, he likes to fight all night!
Here come more kin, from way down south
Riding a horse, wild dogs a barking, foamin' at the mouth...
Shotgun Weddin' wavin' bye bye, all stood 'round, broke down and cry...
(C) in perpetuity all reserved by the author
(P) FilmNoirWorks
--
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 10:53 PM UTC
(C) Kathleen L. Hicks
Can anybody tell me why days were long when we were young?
Our days would seem unending from morn 'til setting sun.
We spent hours playing grownups and mimicked what we'd see,
And all that time rehearsing what someday we might be.
Some days I'd be a teacher, then a nurse or acrobat.
I liked them all, and it was fun to try them out like that.
I wished away my time back then, and I could hardly wait
To see myself all grown up and live beyond our gate.
Give me back the "good old days" of lying in the sun.
I never knew their value then; my life had just begun.
I'd reach out now and hold them tight, embracing every day.
I'd love to be that child again, just one more day to play.
I'm betting there are others who feel as I do too,
Who'd gladly join me back in time
When there was nothing more to do.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 6:04 PM UTC